


the world isn't watching us break down

by tocourtdisaster



Series: 15 Pairings [3]
Category: Bones
Genre: Community: 15pairings, F/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tocourtdisaster/pseuds/tocourtdisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He feels her shoulder rise and fall against his arm as she takes a deep breath and releases it. Her hand turns over underneath his, fingers slipping into the spaces between his.</i> A missing scene from "The Critic in the Cabernet."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world isn't watching us break down

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "A Twist in My Story" by Secondhand Serenade.
> 
> For the prompt: no escape from being alone.

Dr. Brennan can't have been gone more than ten minutes when Lance rejoins his colleagues in the surgical waiting room, somewhat recovered from his mini freak-out.

_They're more than your colleagues; they're your friends,_ his conscience nags at him, reminding him yet again that when it comes to these few people, his professional objectivity has been shot to hell for quite some time.

He has a cup of hospital coffee in one hand, not because he needs the caffeine that's undoubtedly contained in the sludge that's been called coffee, but because he needs the cup as a prop. If he doesn't have anything to hold onto, he knows he'll just fidget and wring his hands in his worry for Booth.

He sits on the couch next to Doctor Saroyan because he's human and his friend is sick, is dying, and he just can't bring himself to be aloof and professional and sit apart from the others. As much as he just wants to plop down in a boneless pile on the couch and wallow in his fear, he still maintains a sliver of decorum and lowers himself carefully onto the leather seat.

He lets his eyes drift to Angela and Hodgins, sitting on the couch opposite. They're not speaking, nor are they touching, but Lance can see how close they're sitting, how Hodgins is leaning into Angela's space, albeit subtly. He would almost bet that this sudden crisis'll do more to bring them back together than the whole last year of starts and stops. It almost brings a smile to his face.

Almost.

Doctor Saroyan's hand comes to rest on Lance's knee and it's only then that he realizes that his leg's been jumping nervously for probably some time now. He looks at her and sees only his own worry and nervousness reflected in her gaze and none of the recrimination he was expecting for his annoying twitch.

"I'm sorry," he tells her and isn't sure if he's apologizing for his fidgeting or the current circumstances as a whole, neither of which is his responsibility or in his control. The apologizing is a relic of his childhood, though, and tends to rear its ugly head whenever the shit hits the fan and now seems to be one of those times.

"It's okay, Lance," she tells him and he jerks a little as his given name leaves her mouth. It's the first time she's called him anything but Sweets; in fact, he can't remember any of his colleagues (_friends_, his conscience reminds him) calling him Lance, not even Doctor Brennan when she decided to share her metaphorical scars in her well-intentioned, but not exactly well-executed, plan to commiserate with his literal scars.

He's never realized that he misses being called Lance until Doctor Saroyan reminds him how little people call him that, especially since his split with Daisy.

He just nods, not sure he can trust his voice right now, hoping that his gratitude is conveyed by the gesture. She squeezes his knee once, gently, before withdrawing her hand and sliding on the leather until her shoulder is pressed against his arm.

"It's okay to be scared," she tells him, bowing her head and fidgeting with her watch, her hands in her lap. "I'm scared," she adds quietly, so softly Lance can barely hear her, almost as if she doesn't want to be heard.

And it breaks his heart to hear her sound so fragile because she's always been so strong, even when there's been less than no hope. She's been kind to him and he wants to, he needs to try to repay some of that kindness, so he sets his coffee aside and, with only the slightest hesitation, lays his hand over hers, stilling her fingers.

He feels her shoulder rise and fall against his arm as she takes a deep breath and releases it. Her hand turns over underneath his, fingers slipping into the spaces between his.

"Thank you," she tells him and, with just the slightest pressure of her palm against his, disentangles her fingers and folds her hands in her lap.

"You're welcome," he says, almost missing the feeling of her hand in his.

Almost.

Before he can start to feel awkward, Doctor Brennan reenters the waiting room, this time wearing blue scrubs instead of the jeans and blazer she was wearing earlier.

"Booth asked me to go into the operating room with him," she says without preamble. "Doctor Jursic agreed to Booth's request and I wanted to let you all know that that's where I'll be for the next few hours."

"Go," Angela tells her. "We'll still be here when you're done."

Doctor Brennan nods and then she's gone just as suddenly as she came and Lance almost wishes that she was wearing a long coat just so he could see it flap with her quick turn and hasty steps.

"And now we wait," Hodgins says, his arm now firmly around Angela, her head against his shoulder.

Lance doesn't think he's ever been as jealous of those two for their easy physical companionship as he is now.

And so he waits, alone, even while with his colleagues (_friends_), too afraid to reach out for the woman next to him.

**

**end**


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